The golden hour

Belatedly
(after years of clouds and chatter)
she found her mate,
pressed against sunset.
Though he wouldn’t land,
she was content
to watch him wheel across
their patch of sky.
In shadows of bridge and mountain,
they embraced,
making vague patterns of twill
in the golden hour.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s